Children
by Tynni
Summary: Whether it be eighteen or one hundred years, at some point, your children always grown up...Just some sleepless typing on a rainy night.


They always grow up.

Whether it be eighteen or one hundred years, at some point, your children always grown up.

The ex-empire knew this fact all too well. He had raised many different children, each of them now standing on their own two feet in some way or another.

Even Alfred, that damnable idiot, was self-sufficient enough not to need his coddling anymore.

Each and every one of them could tie their shoes and balance their checkbooks without having to ask for his help.

Of course, they came to visit still. After all, good children always go check on their caretakers at least once every decade.

Just to make sure he wasn't about to keel over.

_In fact_, Matthew was here on this quiet night, already tucked away in the guest room due to a hectic day.

Despite that, the kid still found time to stop by, as he often did.

More so than his other colonies.

He had always been a bit quieter, reserved in speech and action. At least explicitly.

There were many times in which Arthur figured the boy was the cause of some ruckus, but he was never able to prove it. The lad had a sharp mind for things, sometimes more than the British man liked to admit.

The wind picked up outside, directing his volatile thoughts in a different direction.

He still thought of his Matthew, Canada, but in a different light.

His mind was back in the years he wished to forget.

Turmoil seemed to follow him without letting up.

He had lost his America. It was a fair fight, if one could ever call 'war' fair. To someone as old as him, it should have been nothing more than a family scuffle. Something he could turn up his nose at no matter the outcome.

When had he gotten so soft?

Then there was only Matthew.

He feared losing him too, so he began to indulge him.

Perhaps he had allowed it too far. Perhaps it was simply bound to happen. Perhaps it _needed_ to happen.

That boy grew slowly under his rule until he was allowed his own decisions.

And he proved deserving of that right.

The splash of rain announced the coming storm.

With a sigh, the blonde man leaned back in his chair, staring outside with a bemused expression.

"Reminiscing just proves your age, Ol' boy." He chuckled at himself. The nation stood, stretching out his old muscles, arms that used to parry, legs that stood portside.

A sliver of light caught his attention, causing him to look out again. When he had been nothing but a fledgling nation, storms would terrify him. The lighting reminded him of the fires that destroyed villages in the blink of an eye. Thunder would represent the war drums that pounded along with the march of horses.

Now it was nothing more than a natural phenomenon.

Often, he wondered about his boys, and the wars they had fought. Though this line was usually broken when he realized most of their history was due to him. It was sobering, causing him to detest the clash of powers that he relished in during his greatest days.

It had been after the last one that his children really grew apart from him.

They had proven themselves, more so than he could have asked for. They grew to the men they were today, while somewhat forcefully. It had to happen sometime.

In a way, he accepted it. In a way, he regretted it.

But all children, no matter how old, must grow up sometime.

And on that notion, he would force himself to retire for the night, hoping to be functional for the coming morning.

The storm outside now picking up as it grew closer, a pleasant lullaby for the nation.

He was just preparing the sheets when he heard the door open.

In the doorway stood the man he raised. Tall and proud.

But as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see it. The same thing he once saw in his own reflection all those centuries ago.

There was a sense of vulnerability and the man seemed a bit smaller than usual.

Cocking his head in silent question, he received an answer by an unintelligible mumble, the downturned face, and scuffling of slippered feet.

A half grin crept onto his face. Part of him wished to smile, while another side found it appaling because he knew _why_.

Swinging the sheets down further, he nodded his consent.

For tonight, he would leave those thoughts to drown in the gutter.

For tonight, he would just be a parent.

...

They always grow up

...and they will always be your children.

* * *

I don't own Hetalia *weeps*


End file.
